


(aren't we all just) looking for a little bit of hope

by Flowerparrish



Series: deep water [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Firefly AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overprotective Steve Rogers, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 20:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20748416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: Clint likes Bucky. He liked him when he was a shadow of a man, and he likes him now that he’s somewhere in between a wraith and a person—neither, and both. Clint knows he’ll still like him when he sorts himself out one day, too—then and now and every day in between.





	(aren't we all just) looking for a little bit of hope

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Steve doesn't come off great in this chapter; please do not read into that a hatred of Steve on my part. I'm writing his reaction the way I think an overprotective friend would react when they discover what, to them, looks like someone taking advantage of a vulnerable friend. That said, he reacts like an asshole. It's going to be resolved, but it isn't by the end of this chapter, so if you want to not read / wait, no hard feelings. Just, please, no comments asking why I hate Steve (because I don't).

Bucky sleeps with Clint more often than not.

Or, to be more accurate, Bucky stays with Clint at night, while Clint sleeps, more often than not. Bucky himself rarely sleeps. He sits and watches Clint and sketches, or he lays with his head on Clint’s chest and quietly counts the beats of his heart or his breaths out loud.

On the nights that he does sleep, he always has nightmares that bleed into the waking world. Clint will wake up with a heavy, rigid weight on top of him, a blade at his throat or an arm constricting his windpipe, leaving him dizzy from lack of air.

Clint never struggles; he waits for Bucky’s mind to clear, allows him to go when he needs to run away, allows him to stay and be soothed by Clint’s sleep rough and gentle words when he needs comfort and help grounding himself instead.

Bucky doesn’t apologize—well, not with words. But he’ll teach Clint a new fighting tactic that will help Clint win when he spars with Natasha, or he’ll intimidate fresh fruit out of Tony and give it to Clint. One notable time, he drew a picture of Clint and Nat, relaxed and leaning against one another at dinner, both more happy than not. Content.

It makes Clint feel warm to look at it, so he tapes it to his ceiling over his bunk. Now it’s the last thing he sees at night and the first thing he sees most mornings, and it’s good.

Things with Bucky are… good.

Bucky is broken, yes, still. He’s flawed, too. Sometimes he doesn’t talk for days, and sometimes he talks for hours saying sentences and phrases that don’t make sense.

But he’s getting better. Slowly, surely, he’s rebuilding a self from the scraps they left him with, and Clint’s honestly honored to witness his strength, his tenacity.

Clint _likes _Bucky. He liked him when he was a shadow of a man, and he likes him now that he’s somewhere in between a wraith and a person—neither, and both. Clint knows he’ll still like him when he sorts himself out one day, too—then and now and every day in between.

**

The crew doesn’t know about the capital t Thing that’s going on between Clint and Bucky. This is for a whole host of reasons, such as: Steve being protective, and Natasha being protective, and Clint not wanting people up in his business.

It isn’t that he’s ashamed, though, nor guilty.

Of course he initially questioned the wisdom of entering into what most would consider to be a romantic relationship of some sort with Bucky. But in the end, Clint settled on two (well, three) realizations.

The first is that if Bucky is going to be his own person, then no one else should dictate what he is and isn’t ready for, what he should or shouldn’t do. If Bucky wants to discover something that looks a lot like dating at the same time as he rediscovers himself, who is Clint to decide that he isn’t allowed to do that?

Clint’s never been one to try and control others and what choices they get to make—quite the opposite, in fact. He doesn’t intend to start changing that now.

Second, relationships don’t have rules, especially this far out of the core. Clint’s perfectly happy to take what Bucky wants to give him, to give Bucky the parts of himself that he’s comfortable sharing, and to figure out the rest in time.

When it’s framed that way, it seems a lot less scary—and a lot less like it might be anyone else’s business.

(The third realization is that Clint’s never made wise choices and this, for the reasons listed above, doesn’t seem like the time to start. He likes Bucky. He wants this. Between the two of them, they can figure out the rest.)

But as time goes by, the crew starts to know that there’s Something going on. They may be fuzzy on the nature of that Something, but they know the shape of it.

Natasha sees Clint’s sparring improve and gives him a considering look, but she hasn’t asked yet.

Sam treats one of the shallow nicks on Clint’s neck left behind by Bucky’s knife after one of Bucky’s nightmares, but all he does is ask if it’s a problem, if it’s something they need to tell handle by telling Nat. Clint tells him no and trusts Sam to take him at his word; so far as he knows, Sam does.

Tony mentions that he’s seen Bucky prowling around the ship at night—that Bucky doesn’t always stay in his and Steve’s room—but Clint points out that they all do it, and if it’s not a problem then it would be hypocritical to lock him up. That makes everyone contemplative, quiet. Clint catches Bucky watching them from behind the doorframe only after he says it, and Bucky kisses him that night, hard and desperate, a thank you without words.

Steve, predictably, is the last to know.

Equally predictable is his reaction when he finds out.

Clint’s not particularly bothered by the things Steve says to him, or even _about _him. He _is _bothered by the things Steve says in front of, around, about, and to Bucky while he’s at it.

Clint hates the way Bucky shuts down in the face of conflict; he can’t fight and he doesn’t know how to argue. More than that, Clint hates the way Steve doesn’t even pretend to leave him an opening to advocate for himself, doesn’t let him _try. _

The gist of Steve’s tirade is that Clint is a despicable manipulator who is taking advantage of Bucky, who doesn’t know better and, reading between the lines, can’t be trusted to make these kinds of decisions for himself.

It’s not like Clint’s surprised that Steve’s come to these conclusions; Steve’s extrapolating from an uniformed position, biased and overprotective and too righteous to know he’s being cruel with his words and assumptions.

Clint knows this kind of loyalty, knows the dark side of it: the drawbacks and the pitfalls that are too easy to get caught up in. He knows Steve isn’t in a place to ask questions before he makes his conclusions; Clint doesn’t excuse Steve his behavior, necessarily, but he _does _understand it.

Clint, himself, is a different man than he was ten, hell, even five years ago. He doesn’t internalize other people’s opinions of him in the same way. What once would have broken him down with self-loathing now just makes him… sad. Not even mostly for himself.

Clint tries only once to cut Steve off—hoping that maybe that way, if nothing else, Bucky can escape. Steve is, unfortunately, blocking the stairs that lead up to the main part of the ship, so it’s an unsuccessful effort—but Clint feels better for trying.

So Clint waits, and he listens, and he watches the tension in Bucky build, but he doesn’t step in again. He won’t, when it’s not his place—not unless Bucky asks him to.

Bucky finally reaches his breaking point and shoves past Steve, vanishing up the stairs in the blink of an eye.

Steve’s tirade cuts off—like he’s surprised.

_Oh, Steve, _Clint thinks sadly. He’s so wholly unprepared for the consequences of his impulses.

“You done?” Clint asks him.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Clint shrugs. “Didn’t hear any questions in there; it sounds like you’ve got everything figured out in a way you like. Frankly, I don’t care what you think of me.”

He does, a little. He likes Steve, especially for his devotion to Bucky—this doesn’t change that. Clint’s always valued loyalty, and he values Bucky; those two things alone make Steve someone he values, too. But he doesn’t need or even necessarily want Steve’s approval—not of his decisions, not of his character, not for any of it.

Steve, for his part, seems to be taking all of this as a confirmation of the things he believes.

That’s fine. He’ll learn better, or he won’t.

Clint asks again, “Are you done?”

When Steve clenches his jaw and nods, Clint makes to move past him. He’s halfway up the stairs when Steve speaks.

“One more thing, actually.”

Clint half turns to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Stay away from Bucky.”

Clint snorts. “I will when he asks me to, and not a moment sooner.” Steve opens his mouth to argue, and Clint turns away again. “We’re done here.”

**

Clint doesn’t see much of Bucky for the next few days. His only consolation on that front is that Steve doesn’t see Bucky at all, not even a glimpse of him in the halls.

Steve shows up to try to shove his way into Clint’s room, to check if Bucky’s there, and Clint tells him that it’s none of his goddamn business where Bucky chooses to be, and to stay the hell out of Clint’s space.

Steve punches Clint for that—doesn’t break his nose, but leaves him with a black eye.

At that point, abruptly done with this bullshit, Clint goes to Natasha and makes a formal complaint.

He doesn’t know what the conversation between Natasha and Steve sounds like, but Steve leaves him alone after that, and Clint lets it lie.

On the fourth night after the confrontation, the second night after Steve punches Clint, Bucky slips silently into Clint’s room.

Clint has been lying awake, not thinking about much—and especially not thinking about how difficult it is to sleep without the weight of Bucky’s body or gaze on him at night—and he sits up, waving Bucky over.

Bucky sits next to Clint, so close they’re almost touching, and hesitantly reaches out. Clint nods, giving permission, and Bucky’s hand cups Clint’s face, fingers tracing over the edges of Clint’s black eye.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky tells him.

“Don’t be. You’re not responsible for Steve’s actions any more than he is for yours.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just trails his fingers down across Clint’s jaw, thumb ghosting over Clint’s bottom lip as he goes. Then, “Sorry for staying away.”

Clint shrugs. “You can always have space when you need it.”

Bucky’s shoulders relax slightly at Clint’s words. He tilts his head forward until his forehead is resting against Clint’s. Reaching up, Clint tangles their fingers together.

“Did it help?” Clint asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees easily.

“I don’t like these feelings,” Bucky tells him. “But it’s…” He trails off. “Less. When I’m here. With you.”

“Less what?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, a frustrated tick. Clint waits him out, knowing how hard it is for Bucky to put words to things sometimes. “Less overwhelming. Less present. There’s better things to feel, with you.”

Clint smiles softly. “Awesome. You gonna stay, then?”

Bucky nods, forehead sliding against Clint’s skin gently as he does. “Yeah.”

They breathe like that for a while, until Clint’s neck is too stiff from the awkwardness of the position and he coaxes Bucky into laying down with him instead. He expects Bucky to lay against his side like he usually does, head on Clint’s chest, and is surprised when Bucky instead lays with his head on Clint’s pillow, watching Clint from a couple of inches away.

“What do you feel?” Bucky asks him.

Clint considers it. “Sad for Steve. Sad for you. Happy that you’re here.”

“What Steve said,” Bucky whispers, and then stops. Clint waits, but that’s apparently it; that’s all the words Bucky has right now.

“Well, he’s wrong,” Clint starts, and Bucky nods easily. “So I’m not upset. I don’t care what he thinks.”

Bucky whispers, “I do,” like it’s a confession.

Clint takes Bucky’s hand. “I know. That’s okay.”

He can see tears in Bucky’s eyes. “Yeah?” Bucky asks, sounding smaller than Clint’s ever heard.

“Promise.”

Clint doesn’t make promises lightly. Bucky seems to know this, because he nods, relaxes. “Sleep,” he says.

“Me or you?”

Bucky’s eyes flutter shut. “Both.” After a moment, his hand reaches out, resting over Clint’s heart where he can count its beats, feel the rise and fall of Clint’s chest.

“Okay,” Clint agrees. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

He counts Bucky’s breaths, even and deep, until he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to decide if this story will be 2/3 chapters and then another sequel will hold the rest, or if it will all tie together. Either way, it's outlined, but no promises on update speed. I just... wanted to yeet this first bit into the world. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
